


Unparalleled

by glim



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Holidays, M/M, Protective Arthur, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-09 20:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5554154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>And there was this, too, the odd, unparalleled way that Arthur looks after him: he brooks no argument, and never seems to suggest anything but what Merlin finds himself in need of at that moment. Merlin had definitely needed time to adjust to that.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lawgoddess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawgoddess/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, lawgoddess! You offered so many lovely suggestions and prompts for your fanwork that I had a hard time choosing. I wish I could've written a fic for each one! :) I hope you enjoy this small fic and that your holidays and new year are merry, bright, and full of happiness. 
> 
> Thank you to my beta reader <3 And thank you to the mods for running this fest <3

_2 December_

Arthur drops two folders on Merlin's desk, one labeled 'holiday party' and another labeled 'post holiday party,' and crosses his arms over his chest. "Why do both of these even exist?"

"Hm?" Merlin doesn't look away from his computer, but shrugs in reply. "Invitations, thank you notes, et cetera." He continues typing for a few more minutes, and only turns to face Arthur when he realizes Arthur isn't going to say anything until Merlin actually looks at him. "Pre-planning and post-planning," Merlin explains. "Haven't you ever done a holiday party before?"

"I--what?" The expression on Arthur's face morphs from uncertain to incredulous to annoyed. "Of course I've run holiday parties before. They tend to involve less paperwork than this, however. Especially when you're running one for quite possibly the tiniest publishing house in all of Britain. How did you manage to put together a holiday party that uses two folders filled with various scraps of paper?"

Before Merlin can retort, Arthur casts a disdainful look a the file folders, sighs, and makes his way back to his own desk outside Merlin's office. 

"The files are on on my computer. I already scanned everything," he calls back to Merlin after a moment, and Merlin can tell from the easy tone of his voice that the annoyance has already begun to fade. "I'll send you the invitation list as soon as I've compiled it." 

Merlin reaches across his desk for the file folders. They're a bit worn around the edges, but inside Arthur's attached color-coded Post-It notes and page flags, and brief notes in Arthur's narrow, slanted penmanship on nearly every page in both folders. 

He traces the tip of one finger over Arthur's list of caterers, smiling at the idea of Arthur already having done research for the company holiday party, possibly even before December started, and smiling again at the thought of Arthur finding the post-holiday party files. He can't even find it in himself to be bothered that Arthur's gone and completely reorganized the two files that Merlin himself put together years ago. 

Mostly, he just wants to go through both files to find all of Arthur's notes and trace the writing on each, finding the peaks and curves of each letter, as if he were mapping out Arthur himself. 

He's never had an assistant like Arthur before--of course, truth be told, he's never had any sort of secretary or PA before. For most of his time as head editor at Avalon, Merlin had done all his own admin work. They couldn't afford any extra staff back then, and it seemed superfluous even after business picked up. Ten years passed before Merlin agreed to hire somebody to help him out and now, three months after Arthur took the desk outside his office, Merlin is still adjusting. Not only to having an assistant, but to Arthur himself, with his color-coded calendars and time tables, his tiered organization system for every possible thing, and his sudden, bright smiles. 

"Please don't rifle through those folders like that," Arthur says, his voice shaking Merlin out of his reverie. "I have tea for you, and then you have a meeting with Gaius. Tea first." He holds the cup out to Merlin when Merlin starts to shuffle papers. "It'll only take five minutes and you'll be better off for it."

And there was this, too, the odd, unparalleled way that Arthur looks after him: he brooks no argument, and never seems to suggest anything but what Merlin finds himself in need of at that moment. Merlin had definitely needed time to adjust to that.

 

_8 December_

Merlin slumps against the counter in the staff kitchen and closes his eyes while he waits for the kettle to boil. Usually, Arthur will fetch his first cup of tea in the morning, but after working late last night, Merlin had told Arthur not to bother coming in until ten this morning. 

It's eight o'clock now, which means only six hours have passed since Merlin left the office yesterday. Or, no, this morning. That would've been this morning. Merlin scrubs his face with both hands and gives a little groan. His eyes feel like sandpaper, and tugging off his glasses to rub at them more firmly doesn't do much to alleviate the feeling. Putting his glasses back on and forcing himself to look awake takes all the energy that Merlin has left; he really needs as much tea as he can force into himself. 

"Ooh, you look awful." 

Merlin grunts in reply, then raises his head to watch Gwen pour hot water into her own and his travel mugs. Gwen works in tech--or, well, actually, Gwen _is_ the tech department. She does the company website and makes sure the computer systems are running smoothly for the whole company, and still seems to manage to have enough time for a social life that involves a wife and two puppies. 

(Gwen's always had an assistant. Ten years in, she actually has two and has probably learned the fine art of delegation.) 

"You can't even blame it on being Monday today, dear." Gwen pats Merlin on the arm, then rubs it soothingly when he slumps a bit more. 

"I think this whole week is going to be made up of Mondays," Merlin says. He stirs honey and lemon into his mug, hoping the scratchy throat that's decided to accompany the tired eyes is something he can chase away with tea and sleep. "We did finish all the work for the poetry festival, though." 

"That's fantastic! I know you wanted that squared away before the middle of the month." Gwen sips her tea, then smiles at him over the edge of her mug. "Your Arthur says we're getting food from Tremain's for the holiday party. That'll be nice."

"We are? Oh. Wait, yes, yes we are. I have menus in my office; I'll drop one off at yours if you feel like picking out food with us tomorrow or Thursday."

"Sure, I can do that." 

Merlin cradles his travel mug to his chest as he walks out of the staff room with Gwen, walks her halfway to her office, and then meanders back to his. Despite being told he could come in late, Arthur's already there. 

"Did you know," Merlin says, leaning against his PA's desk, "that you're _my_ Arthur now?"

Arthur looks up at him with a tired, almost confused little smile. "Well. It could be worse, I suppose." 

"I suppose." Merlin presses the tea to his chest once more to keep the warmth that is blooming inside him there as long as possible. 

 

_11 December_

The scratchy, sore throat lingers for a few days, then blossoms into a rather fantastic cold on Friday morning. Merlin survives an author interview and a lunch with his editing team before he sits himself down at Arthur's desk and pillows his head on his arms. 

"You do realize you have your own desk, inside a nice, warm, private office?" Arthur says, brushing his palm over Merlin's hair as he walks between the desk and the filing cabinets. "And at least a half dozen people you can delegate some of that work on your desk to? You don't need to push yourself to go through all those manuscripts," he adds, his hand touching Merlin's hair gently again, then smoothing over it when Merlin coughs and groans. 

"Sometimes it's easier to ... I don't know. Read through them once myself. Or..." Merlin coughs again and shakes his head, then pulls off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. The congestion-headache-thing he always seems to get when he's ill is starting to build. "I like to see everything that comes through."

"Right, well, this isn't one of those times. Here." Arthur pushes his own mug of still-steaming tea at Merlin and neatly folds up Merlin's glasses and places them aside. "Drink this. And make a list of what you'll need from the chemist's." He places a notepad and pen next to the tea. 

Merlin wraps his hands around Arthur's mug and takes a small sip, then ducks his head shyly when he realizes it's lemon honey tea. "You don't drink tea with lemon and honey," he murmurs.

"No, I don't. But you do," Arthur says, and nods at the paper and pen. "Now, tissues, you'll probably need tissues. And LemSip?"

Merlin nods and sniffles into his tea, finding it almost too easy to slip into the easy domesticity of having Arthur fuss at his cold. 

 

_12 December_

Merlin falls asleep on the sofa Friday night after more tea and a LemSip, and only wakes up Saturday morning when he hears his mobile ringing. He picks it up, half-hoping it's his mum so he can whinge at her a bit about being ill and behind on the holiday rush at work. 

Arthur's name appears, however, and Merlin can't imagine why his PA is ringing him on a Saturday, so he lets it go to voicemail. Merlin dozes on the sofa, trying to decide if he wants a shower, a cup of tea, or to crawl into bed and sleep for a couple more hours. 

Arthur doesn't leave a voicemail, but he texts a few minutes later, and Merlin can't help but stare stupidly at his mobile and think about how very _Arthur_ the text is:

> Good morning--sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to check and see how you're feeling with your cold. Let me know if you need anything. I'm going running, but I could stop by if you wanted anything. --Arthur

Merlin alternates between gazing at his mobile even more stupidly and dozing off for a few more minutes, then texts Arthur back that no, he doesn't want anything, and that he's feeling quite a bit less miserable than yesterday. He eventually has his cup of tea and a shower, then toast and a quick read through of his work email, and then a nap in bed mid-afternoon. Between all those things, however, Merlin finds himself texting Arthur. Their conversation stretches throughout the day and only ends when Merlin finds himself at his door, facing a surprisingly bashful looking Arthur.

"I know you said you didn't want anything, but I rather think you need soup." 

He holds up a bag of fancy Thai take-away and looks so hopeful, so sincerely hopeful and handsome, that Merlin immediately invites him in. 

"I'll yield to your expert judgment on that, based on how you also decided I needed half of the chemist's shop for this cold." 

"Well, you are looking much better today," Arthur says. He smiles, and that hopefulness lights up his eyes again, and when Merlin touches his arm, he leans right into the touch. 

Probably, Merlin thinks, if he weren't still croaky and congested and liable to start coughing at any given moment, he would've kissed Arthur right then. The brightness of his smile lights his eyes, and he has on that blue-grey jumper that makes him look even more ridiculously blond and blue-eyed. And Merlin is ill and vulnerable to that brightness, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms around Arthur and to bury himself in the genuine warmth that Arthur offers without reserve. 

Instead, he thanks Arthur at least a half-dozen times for the soup and the texts, and spends his whole evening eating take-away and watching old Doctor Who episodes with Arthur tucked in next to him on the sofa. 

 

_18 December_

Merlin kisses Arthur at the holiday party. 

The rush of festivities has already passed, the gift-giving and speech-making already over, when Merlin settles in next to Arthur with a glass of wine at the back of the room. 

"I guess all your color-coded page flags and cross-referenced spreadsheets worked out, because this was fantastic. Truly," Merlin says and nudges his shoulder against Arthur's. "This doesn't even look like our usual boring meeting room anymore. The lights and tinsel," he says, motioning with his wine glass. 

"I only organized it. The food and decorations, I can't claim any credit for that." Arthur ducks his head, that same, brief, shy gesture that Merlin has become accustomed to. 

"Well, you're very good at organizing. You organize me," Merlin says, and the laugh catches in his throat when he feels Arthur's body press closer to his. 

"That I'll definitely take credit for. I like looking after you," he adds. His fingertips brush Merlin's, his shoulder nudges Merlin's again, and there are probably a hundred other little touches that Merlin can't keep track of but he knows they keep him close and warm next to Arthur. 

"Come here," Merlin says when half the guests have left and those remaining have broken into small, quiet groups. He tugs Arthur into the corridor and slips his arms around Arthur's waist. 

Faint holiday music drifts from the party and twinkling fairy lights strung up in the background gives the edges of corridor a faint, fuzzy, golden glow. Merlin touches his forehead to Arthur's to give them both some time to take it all in--the glowing quiet between them, the lull in the frenzy at the end of the year.

"Thank you," Merlin says. He touches his nose to Arthur's, nuzzling softly, uncertain how to start.

"For what?" Arthur wrinkles his nose up against the touch, then leans in closer to let Merlin nuzzle him again.

"For everything. For the party, and for staying with me. Staying here, even when I said I didn't need a PA."

"You need a PA."

Merlin shakes his head. "I need you," he murmurs and suddenly, kissing Arthur is the easiest thing in the world. He presses his lips to Arthur's, just lightly, and kisses him once, then again, and then sinks into him when Arthur returns the kiss. 

"Yes," Arthur says, and, under his breath, "me too." 

Before their little bubble of quiet warmth can dissipate, Merlin reaches up to stroke the hair behind Arthur's ears and to press their foreheads close once more. "What are you doing for Christmas?"

"Family dinner... Boxing Day?"

Merlin nods. "Come to mine? Or yours?"

"Yours," Arthur says. "I'll be there Saturday morning." 

Merlin brushes the tip of his nose down the bridge of Arthur's before kissing him again. "Perfect."

 

_26 December_

Boxing Day morning arrives chilly and grey, with the promise of the drizzle turning to true rain at some point. Merlin wakes up early to wait for Arthur, and finds himself drinking coffee in front his Christmas tree in his pajamas. He keeps the rest of the lights off, and his world is a quiet gold and grey, made up of morning clouds and strong hot, coffee. 

He only gets one text from Arthur that morning, one that simply says: I'm home. Merlin unlocks the door after he receives the text, and wraps his arms around Arthur almost as soon as he walks in the door, smelling of rain and winter air. 

"I thought I'd be here sooner. Breakfast lasted longer than I thought it would, and the traffic out of London..."

"It's all right." Merlin kisses Arthur on the neck, then sighs when Arthur turns to press his mouth to Merlin's. "Can you stay the weekend?"

Arthur nods, and his lips move over Merlin's as he says, "Yes, yes of course" and "Happy Christmas" and "I missed you" between kisses. 

"I'll take care of you today." Merlin strokes Arthur's hair at the nape of his neck.

He gives Arthur hot coffee with cream and sugar, strokes his hair while he drinks and relaxes, kisses his neck and ears and shoulder, lets Arthur curl into him with sudden softness as Merlin keeps on kissing him. 

Later, after they've retreated to the bedroom, and Merlin has learned all the curious curves and slants of Arthur's body, Merlin thinks that yes, yes, perhaps Arthur is what he's always needed.


	2. Outtake #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 11 , from Arthur's point of view.

Merlin has a morning full of meetings, included an extended lunch meeting with his editing team, so Arthur decides he can afford to take his lunch hour outside the office. He tends to eat at his desk or in the staff lounge, depending on how much work he has to get through that day. Sometimes he'll go out for a coffee, just to get away from his desk, and spend fifteen minutes or so drinking it outside or in the tiny cafe next door. 

Some days he'll eat lunch in Merlin's office, which has its high and low points. Merlin usually makes sure that Arthur takes the whole lunch hour and doesn't focus too much on work, though he'll tell Arthur they have some task to work on together. Merlin's haphazard with his lunches--hastily assembled salads, carrots and hummus, a handful of fruit and crackers--but he almost always orders lunch when he and Arthur eat together. Which is probably a good thing, given that he lets Arthur choose their food, and Arthur always gets something with vegetables and protein--pasta salad or sandwiches and soup--that he knows Merlin will eat.

He's on his own today, though, and he can only hope Merlin remembers to actually eat lunch during his lunch meeting. He gets a few texts from Merlin through his own lunch hour: two about the poetry festival he's in the midst of planning, and one about how he has a headache and could Arthur get him a coffee after he's done with lunch.

Arthur resolutely does not get Merlin coffee, and is grateful for making that decision when he returns to the office to find Merlin slumped over at Arthur's desk. He still has the pale, tired look he's been coming into work with for the past few days, and he coughs quietly into his sleeve when Arthur approaches the desk. 

"Did you finish early?"

Merlin shrugs and coughs again. He looks bleary and sniffly, the edges of his nose already a bit pink, and he doesn't even push the tissues away that Arthur pushes closer to him. "Sort of... Coffee?"

"No. No coffee for you," Arthur says, tugging off his coat and scarf. "Your voice already sounds shot." 

"S'fine. A little rough. Ughhh..." Merlin buries his face in his arms and droops down onto Arthur's desk. "I have two phone calls to make," he says, and it sounds more like he's reminding himself than Arthur. 

Arthur sighs and reaches over to touch the back of Merlin's neck. When Merlin doesn't flinch from the touch, Arthur rubs gently until he can see the tension in Merlin's neck and shoulders ease a fraction. "No you don't. I'll take care of it," he says, and adds, "and I'll get you some tea." 

Arthur grabs his own mug from his desk, along with his work mobile, and emails both Merlin's phone conference appointments to reschedule for the start of next week. He knows enough about each call to review the main points in the emails with both contacts, and, really, Arthur suspects most of the conversation could be covered via email and the calls next week will take minutes at most. Whereas, if Merlin had to do them this week, he'd probably be on the line for at least an hour with both his colleagues. And Arthur also suspects that Merlin doesn't actually have two hours' worth of voice left after his meetings today. 

He needs to drink an inordinate amount of hot tea, catch up on all the rest he's missed this past week, and probably put himself on a cold medicine regiment to make sure that he does actually sleep. Arthur can hear Merlin coughing and sneezing roughly at his desk, and even his coughs and sneezes sound tired at this point. 

Well. Arthur will fetch medicine from the local chemist, attempt to send his boss home early, and check up on him tomorrow. That's probably the best that Merlin will let him do, and if that works, Arthur might try a bit more fussing tomorrow afternoon.


End file.
